


Chip N Pin

by hamishholmess



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Daily, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Shameless Smut, Smut, cute shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:50:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2161269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamishholmess/pseuds/hamishholmess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of Ficlets: Johnlock Dailies</p><p>Because I can't not write about John and Sherlock, and a genius idea of another long-term story has not quite surfaced yet. Enjoy the minis instead. : *</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TessieRiddle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TessieRiddle/gifts).



> For the precious TessieRiddle, who made a smart quip about wanting to read anything, even a shopping list...

 

 

> **Milk**   
>  **Tea (the proper brand, please)**   
>  **Bread**   
>  **~~Turkey (from the deli)~~ **   
>  **Strawberry jam (seedless)**   
>  ~~**Kosher dill pickles (in a refrigerated aisle)** ~~   
>  **Razors (4 blades)**

 

  
  
Sherlock stared at the list. He was standing in the middle of aisle four, glancing from the list to the bread selection, and back to the list again. Bread. What the hell sort of specification was that? Wheat? Rye? Twelve grain? Gluten free? Potato bread? What on _earth_ was potato bread?  
  
 _Just... Bread? SH_  
 **Yeah, any sort. Doesn't matter. Just get what we normally get. JW**  
 _Right. SH_  
 **You don't remember what we normally get, do you? JW**  
 _Well. Seeing as you are normally the shopper, no. Those observations seemed irrelevant. SH_  
 **It's 7 grain. Pepperidge. JW**  
  
He found a loaf and tossed it into his basket. He scribbled the item off the list.  
  
Aisle twelve. Milk.  
2%? Whole? Skim? That looked repulsive, like water mixed with papier mâché. Soy? Almond? Why? Why were there so many choices? Couldn't there be just one milk? Sherlock debated between whole and 2% for a solid seven minutes before opting for the 2%.  
  
Aisle five. Razors.  
Four blades? Why did it matter? Which BRAND of four blade razors was he supposed to get? Gillette? Was the pivot action really _necessary_?  
  
...is this what John endured every time he came to the market?

 

  
  
"Card not accepted. Please select another method of payment."

  
"You are not human, do not speak to me in such a derogatory way. You're a damned chip and pin machine."

  
"Card not accepted. Please select-"

  
"Yes. Alright, alright!"

  
"Sir? May I assist you?"

  
"How is it that your job title is grocer, when in fact, you do nothing? Instead, you force us to endure the humiliation of an automated voice if it doesn't want to properly eat our card, and demand we sort through produce selections and typing in deli codes. Isn't that _your_ job?" Sherlock sneered. He snatched up the bags and headed for the door.  
  
"Wait! Sir! Your... receipt."

 

+

  
  
John heard him storming the steps before he breached the flat. Watson tried his best to purse his lips and hold in the laughter traveling up his windpipe. He hid his face behind the paper when the door swung open, smacking against the rubber safety on the wall.  
  
The bags were dropped onto the kitchen table. A click of vials was soon followed by a rolling and a shatter of glass against ceramic tile. John peeked over the top of the newsprint to see Sherlock absolutely seething, fists clenched into pale, blotched balls and shoulders drawn up tight against his neck. He couldn't help it: a chuckle slipped out.  
  
Sherlock spun and glared death daggers. John laughed aloud, covering his mouth with his hand. His eyes were twinkling with amusement. "How was the market?" He breathed out, trying to stifle the giggles bubbling deep in his chest, begging to wiggle out.  
  
"Absolutely wretched, John. I loathe it. How do you do it?" Sherlock's eyes softened a bit, his eyebrows high in his head in a look of disbelief.  "I just wanted milk."  
  
John erupted into another fit of laughter as he walked up and wrapped himself around Sherlock's waist, taking care to avoid the chunks of glass. The detective wilted at the touch.  
  
"That was meant to serve a point, was it not?"

  
"Yes."

  
"Fine. Next time I won't ask how many types of strawberry jam there are."

  
"Wise decision." John nuzzled into Sherlock's neck, planting a small kiss on the right wing of his collarbone.

  
Sherlock dug through one of the bags and pulled out a glass jar. He raised an eyebrow defiantly, a smug look taking over his sharp features.  
"But I did find the seedless one..."


	2. I've Got You Shackled in My Embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm latching onto you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexy boys inspired by a very sexy song. Latch, by Disclosure & Sam Smith. Enjoy your evening dose of naughty John!lock. ;)  
> [Listen to it here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=93ASUImTedo)

John was sitting at the bar, downing his fifth pint. A comfortable buzz had settled into his bones. It was Friday night, and the pub was packed with dancing bodies. The lights were low, and he could feel a little bass deep in his chest.

A pretty blonde strolled up to him. She laced her hand around his neck and leaned in: “Dance?” It was a question with a hint of assumption and shit ton of alcohol. John slid off his stool and volunteered to be led through the throng of humans. She was mild at first, keeping her distance and only lacing her knees next to John’s. Then her hands had found his chest, running from his shoulders down to the top of his trousers. John felt a bit warm under his collar as he watched her turn and wrap her long hair in a fist, pressing her hips into his. He wouldn’t reach out to touch her; this wasn’t really his scene. But it was fun, and innocent, and mildly sexy.

The song shifted, and she kissed his cheek and winked, heading to the bar. John assumed she was getting another round. He lingered awkwardly among the hot bodies. Just as he was about to walk away, cold fingers wrapped around his wrist.

The arm they belonged to was long, pale, with gorgeous blue veins surfacing at the soft skin near the palm of his hand. _His_. John looked up into a frightfully attractive face. His predator was tall, a little over six feet at least, with alabaster skin and fierce, gray blue eyes. They rested above absurdly defined cheekbones and were accompanied by a mouth that could only be described, in pure honesty, as full, pouting and delicious. Oh, _fuck_. The man slid his black-denim covered leg between John’s, and Watson felt his breath exit in one frantic rush. The song leaking from the DJ’s speakers was a huge hit in America… a slow, pulsing beat. Latch. That’s what it was.

John didn’t consider himself much of a dancer, but somehow he got sorted very quickly with this terrifying, tantalizing man. The stranger laced one of his palms to the small of John’s back and gave a small pull. Their hips touched, and John felt a familiar heat bloom in his stomach. He licked his lips and looked from where their hips were grinding together up to his face. John opened his mouth, to ask the stranger his name, but a long, lithe finger came to rest across Watson’s lips. They were cold, and John suddenly had a desire to take it in his mouth.

John was being pushed away, then turned. He felt both hands grip the concave parts of his hips and pull. There was hot breath in Watson’s ear; he began to feel faint. “Sherlock.” The voice was deep, dark and glorious. John shivered. Jesus Christ. John wrapped an arm up and around Sherlock’s neck and gripped the other hand on his hip. He watched as his knuckles grew white. Teeth were biting at the curve of his ear. John reached into the head of curls and tugged. He felt a fantastic hardness twitch underneath him in unison.

And then the song was over. John didn’t want to leave the curve of the inside of Sherlock’s hips, didn’t want to release the curls tightly wound in his short, callused fingers, didn’t want to watch that mouth walk out the door. The next bass-filled top hit came on, and John turned, giving Sherlock a strong push towards the toilets. The brunette smirked and John gave a devilish grin. John pushed him through the bathroom door and against the wall. Watson yanked at the man’s belt, and pressed into him, biting at his neck. He kissed Sherlock’s ear and breathed “John.” He watched with satisfaction as gooseflesh broke out across the taut skin of his arms. Someone pushed at the door, but didn’t linger long after understanding where this freight train was headed. Sherlock shoved John’s hands away and cornered him into a stall, slamming the flimsy door behind him. His hand was cradling the back of John’s head, and then his lips were burning fire into John’s. His tongue found entrance to John’s mouth and was tracing his lips, exploring the roof of his mouth… John gasped. Hands were under shirts and pulling at the buttons and zips of their trousers. John teased Sherlock through his pants, rubbing his hands across a magnificent erection. Watson felt his own pulse beneath the tension of his cotton pants. John watched in fascination as Sherlock fell to his knees and ran his tongue across John’s leaking hard on. “ _Fuck_ ” left Watson’s throat in a broken moan. Who the fuck _was_ this? He must have him. Now.

John grabbed Sherlock’s gorgeous jaw and forced eye contact. His eyes were blown wide with lust, his pupils consuming the silvery blue that was there mere minutes ago. John gently pulled Sherlock back to his feet and gave his cupid’s bow a small kiss before pulling his pants to his knees. He took Sherlock’s hand in his own and ran his tongue down the center. He licked his own hand and wrapped it around Sherlock’s flushed, velvet skinned prick. It was perfect, and gave a deep twitch at John’s contact. Sherlock melted into the wall, head tilted back, curls falling across his eyes. Watson nipped at the exposed skin of his pale neck. He was so tempted to leave a love bite, just there. Under the jaw, close the ear. Sherlock’s hips arched forward, demanding more from John. John spat in his hand and pressed his miserably hard cock into the delicious v of Sherlock’s hip. He wrapped his hands around both of them, gasping, and began to rut against his own hand and Sherlock’s hip.

“Goddamnit.” That voice. It was like warm honey melting over biscuits fresh out of the oven. Like the perfect cup of earl grey, two sugars and a dash of milk. It resonated in John’s bones like a song. He had never wanted someone so badly in all his fucking life. _Christ._ Sherlock’s chest was heaving, and John bit at the bones exposed from the sternum.

“You do realize you’re coming home with me?” John spoke in a lethal whisper. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open and a smug grin possessed that perfect mouth. John chuckled in a menacing way and fell to his knees, knowing Sherlock was close. He enveloped the hot heat of Sherlock’s cock into his mouth. Sherlock watched through heavily lidded eyes as John’s cheeks hollowed. There was a magnificent, guttural sound that escaped his lungs and John’s prick twitched between his legs. Six, seven, eight. Sherlock was shuddering under John’s touch, knuckles white from clenched fists. John ran his hand teasingly down Sherlock’s chest, clawing at the ripples in his abdomen. His cock found the back of John’s throat and he moaned. Sherlock fell to pieces. “Jesus. Fuck. _John.”_ Jawn. _Oh._ While savoring Sherlock slipping down his throat, John wrapped his hand around his own cock and two thrusts in, he came.

John rested his forehead against Sherlock’s thigh, steadying his breathing. He giggled after a moment, realizing the absolute absurdity of the situation. He looked up at Sherlock from his knees. The brunette’s eyes were glinting deviantly, the right side of his mouth pulled up at the corner.

“Still planning to take me home?”

“God, yes.”


End file.
